


The truth is written in the curve of your lips

by Sarisia (Rrrowr)



Category: Terminator (Movies), Terminator - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-07
Updated: 2009-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Sarisia
Summary: Some morning. Set during the movie. Kyle Reese wakes up to the sound of machinery. Marcus is already awake.





	

**Author's Note:**

> repost from lj

Kyle wakes up to the sound of machinery -- eyes jerking open, panic already spreading through his limbs, adrenaline coursing through his blood like a switch. He goes from sleeping peacefully to wide awake and ready to run in half a second, but Marcus, already awake and perched firmly on the edge of a crate, pushes him back down with a broad and comforting hand to his chest. Reassured that someone he trusts is keeping watch, Kyle settles under Marcus's touch and takes the opportunity to observe.

Mouth set in a concerned frown as he eyes the open hatch above them, Marcus is the very picture of the perfect sentinel. It's moments like this, when Marcus is still and watchful, that Kyle has to sit back and take a good look at the man that has become a part of his life. Marcus is kind of like an animal, Kyle admits to himself. He's all instinct and half intelligence, reacting on what he knows with the speed and efficiency of a practiced fighter. For anyone else, he thinks that kind of style would be a detriment 'cause most people don't know enough.

But Marcus -- he knows more now than he did months ago -- about Terminators and machines, and about how things that used to be harmless are now more dangerous than the people that created them.

It shows.

Marcus tilts his head -- just so. Listening. Finding the pitches that will pinpoint the location of the machine searching for them, the low whirs of fans, the pulsating thunder of engines, the sounds of pistons and clunky footsteps and the hum of scanners. His breathing is quiet and steady. If Kyle didn't know any better -- if he didn't know what fighters got like when they were threatened, if he didn't know what he did himself -- he would say that Marcus feared nothing.

He covers Marcus's hand with his.

The sounds grow distant. Marcus moves his head to follow it. Kyle shifts under the weight of Marcus's hand and, acknowledging that danger has passed for now, the other man withdraws. Kyle sneaks close to his side.

"What do you think?" Marcus whispers as he leans into Kyle's touch.

Marcus's eyes drop to his lips, briefly as he replies: "Not yet."

Kyle wouldn't normally ask, not with the threat of machines so close, but the sound is already distant, Star hasn't stirred at all, and Marcus's face is half in bright light and half in shadow. It's tempting as all hell to just lean in and claim the mouth that begs for touch, to kiss a man that wants and wants and wants. Instead-

"In the meantime, whaddya want to do?" But Kyle's already got his hand lifting up, coming to squeeze Marcus's shoulder meaningfully. "Come back to bed?"

Marcus goes still for a second. His eyes linger on the hatch, and his shoulders remain tense underneath Kyle's hands. Slowly, he nods. Kyle doesn't let himself think that it was his invitation that convinced him.

"We could use the extra sleep before we travel," Marcus says -- too carefully.

Kyle has only had a mute little girl for company in recent months, and because of that his skill at reading body language hasn't gotten rusty for lack of use. And it's not like he hasn't been traveling with this man or sleeping with this man for weeks now. He _knows_ what that careful tone and that cautious choice in words means, and he welcomes the knowledge.

He laughs, softly, as he settles back into their makeshift bed. It's tarp and blankets and old, holey jackets, but it's comfortable, and he can spread out on them. "Like I'll be able to sleep after that close scare."

Marcus smiles. Kyle thinks it looks handsome on him. Days of stubble growing dark along his jaw, broad shoulders shifting under his shirt as he moves to Kyle's side. His smile disappears all-too-quickly, but Kyle can understand. It's difficult to find out about Terminators so suddenly. Even if Kyle still wonders how a guy can be on Earth without knowing about the machines when he feels like he's known about them for his entire life.

It's a mystery -- one that's been drawn in every line of Marcus's body. Kyle likes solving mysteries, and he thinks that figuring out every nuance of this man might be the most satisfying thing he could do in his entire life, after joining the Resistance, of course.

"Come here," he says to Marcus and holds out his hands.

Marcus is hesitant -- but then he's always a little timid, as if he expects this to be a hallucination or a trick of the mind -- but he lets Kyle fold his arms around his neck. And he lets Kyle kiss the corner of his mouth. He lets Kyle's thumbs stroke down the line of his jugular and press against his collarbone. And when Kyle shoves up the hem of Marcus's shirt, there are scars under his fingertips (stories that he hasn't learned yet, but intends to). Marcus's breathing shudders into his ear.

"Marcus," Kyle says, his lips moving against the other man's. "Please."

The other man groans -- like an animal, like the coyote that Kyle had once seen in the desert, dying and desperate and wild. His hands find Kyle's hips and he jerks them together.

"Of all the people," Marcus huffs in a grave, distraught tone, "you had to go and choose me."

But he covers Kyle all the same.

He looms over him, shadowed and dangerous and all kinds of restrained power. Kyle can't bring himself to be afraid, though. Not when Marcus's hands are so gentle, so cautious. Not when he plucks at the zippers and buttons of Kyle's clothes, afraid to break the threads, afraid to destroy anything that may be useful or have sentiment.

Kyle laughs as Marcus pulls down his pants, when they get caught in his shoes and he has to tug at Kyle's laces and show just how much he's wanting this despite his reserve. Marcus covers the top of Kyle's feet with his palm, sliding his hands over skin. Despite the fact that he second-guesses nearly everything else, Marcus does not hesitate once he's committed. His touch is solid when his palm flattens against Kyle's calves and when his fingers press into the lean muscle of Kyle's thighs.

Every time they come to this, Kyle is amazed. Here he is, seventeen -- no family to speak of except the one he's made for himself. They've come. They've been taken from him. He still has a little sister and now he has -- this man. Who hides as much of himself as he can, yet seems completely incapable of doing so. Now, for instance, with his hands cupping Kyle's body and his noticeable hardness against Kyle's hip, Marcus kisses him. Marcus _wants_ to kiss. He wants to taste something from Kyle's mouth, though Kyle hasn't yet figured out what he's looking for. And the way that Marcus's mouth hovers over his skin is scared and tender while his stubble scrapes at Kyle's chest and down his stomach. Marcus bows his head into Kyle's navel and just rests there for a moment, breathing.

It's all telling. Every moment is something that Kyle can learn from.

Rubbing his fingers along the nape of Marcus's neck, Kyle tries not to worry about how the man above him has stilled. He cards his fingers through Marcus's hair. "Marcus? Hey, are-"

Kyle, who had, until this moment, been propped up on his elbows to watch every motion of Marcus's body, falls back into his clothes with a strangled gasp. He swallows tightly and presses a fist into his mouth to keep from making a sound as Marcus's mouth works at his length.

If Marcus does not like to talk much, he makes up for it. His lips are tight around Kyle's cock. There's a wet tongue pressing up against him and an edge of teeth that means all risk and no mercy and all hard, hard suction. It strips Kyle of his restraints, gives him no quarter, and sets him out into startling, blinding vulnerability. He bucks into Marcus's mouth. Can't hardly help himself. But Marcus just grips him by the hips, holds him down and Kyle looks down just soon enough to see Marcus smiling as he kisses the underside of Kyle's erection.

"Oh, fuck, man," Kyle groans. "You'll be the death of me."

Marcus hums darkly against his skin. "Maybe I will," he agrees before swallowing him down again.

And sentences like those -- oh, Kyle won't remember them until well into the next day, when they're careening down the highway, and he still won't mention to Marcus how they made him feel, that they made him worry. 'Cause the last thing he wants is for his family to be broken up or to lose anyone -- not anyone, never again. And it hurts, more than Kyle thinks it should, to wonder if Marcus is just doing this out of obligation.

But Marcus plies Kyle's body open on his fingers without even asking. And Kyle doesn't bother denying that he wants it. Oh, no - he moans openly for a second before stifling it against his shoulder while he reaches for Marcus's body.

"Relax," Marcus soothes and presses a kiss under Kyle's jaw, to his breast bone, to his navel. "Don't you worry. I've got you." And then he shifts further down again and hooks his hands under Kyle's knees, lifting his legs into the air before bending down again. And Kyle lets out a whimper because Marcus's breath is right against his opening when he next speaks: "Got you right here."

The first touch of Marcus's tongue -- cause seriously, fuck warnings -- draws a little whine out of Kyle's throat. And then, Marcus echoes the sound with his own, like it was exactly the kind of response he was hoping for, before he lifts Kyle's hips up and licks a full stripe across Kyle's opening, probing in with the tip and sucking at the dark skin.

Kyle's fingers search down, find Marcus's hand, and hold on tight. He bites down on his lower lip to keep from making too much noise and he bucks up and up and up, searching for more contact, more friction, more anything so long as it's Marcus.

"Now," he hisses. "Marcus, do it now."

"Not yet," says Marcus, and one of his fingers has the audacity to start pressing into him again when he's already so close. "You're not ready for me yet."

"I am," Kyle throws back as the finger inside him squirms deeper. "I can handle everything you give me."

Marcus hums again, thoughtfully, and kisses the underside of Kyle's thigh. "Maybe you could."

"Yes," says Kyle, and not only because Marcus is finally pressing into him or because the breadth of him always seems to be more than Kyle feels prepared to take. But also because Marcus is watching him -- eyes intent on Kyle's face as they come together. He whispers again: "Yes," and tilts up his head, perhaps a bit defiant. Perhaps a bit determined to prove that he can take anything Marcus chooses to dish out.

Marcus smiles back, skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he hitches one of Kyle's legs over his hip and bends down to kiss Kyle again.

There's no more talking after that. There's only the hot, dirty heat of this thing that's between them. This thing that has Marcus's hips slapping up against his body. This thing that has Kyle wrapping his arms tightly around Marcus's shoulders, straining to get closer and finding Marcus already waiting for him and ready to give him everything he asked for. This thing that has Marcus bowing his head into the crook of Kyle's neck and breathing deep and unsteadily while Kyle makes tiny, wanton sounds into his hair.

Kyle knows what this thing is.

Afterward, Marcus helps him dress. His fingers gingerly re-button and re-zip every piece of clothing that he's taken off of Kyle. Marcus straightens the collar of Kyle's jacket and tugs the knit hat over his head. Standing before him, Marcus looks as tall and powerful and stern as any man that Kyle might have expected to find wearing a red band on his sleeve. But his eyes are soft, and his pulse is a tad too fast as Kyle's fingers wrap tight around his wrist.

Marcus holds onto Kyle's hands for a moment. He looks wonderingly at them before bringing them to his lips. He kisses Kyle's fingertips with gentle, shaky lips. Kyle finds himself swallowing thickly, wanting all over again.

Oh, yeah. Marcus knows too.


End file.
